For Mummy
by Willow Capelle
Summary: Sherlock, Mycroft, and John are all attending the Christmas Party at Holmes' Manor.


The atmosphere of the Holmes Mansion's ballroom was positively glowing. Nearly everyone was either chattering happily at one another, or they were on the dance floor, moving elegantly with a partner. Christmas lights twinkled everywhere, and massive fake snowflakes, wreaths, and ornaments adorned the walls and hovered over the dance floor. Refreshments tables lined the walls, and it was here that many of the people smiled and engaged in conversation with one another.

Mrs. Holmes was positively glowing as she talked with several people; it was obvious she was elated that she finally was able to have a Christmas party where both her sons were present.

Sherlock was the only one at the party not dancing or engaging in conversation. It was rather his preference to sit in the corner and watch people, and deduce things about them in his head. This woman wasn't interested in her dancing partner, namely because he kept stepping on her toes; another man was a widower, and his partner was totally unaware, as she laughed and joked about marriage before she was whisked away across the dance floor again. John's dancing partner was more interested in the man ten feet away from them, but John was oblivious to that.

"Mummy's going to be rather unhappy if she finds you've been sulking in the corner the entire time you've been here," Mycroft's voice cut into his thoughts, and Sherlock raised his head to give his brother a look of indifference before turning back to watch the partygoers as a waltz began.

"Mummy will be unhappy only if she finds out that I'm choosing not to socialize," Sherlock retorted. "How's the diet? Cheating again? I think you've gained at least five pounds since I saw you last." Mycroft sighed and looked away, his face tinted slightly pink.

"_Fine_, thank you," Mycroft snapped. "I do have self-control. Unlike _some_ people."

"Wouldn't have guessed," Sherlock replied smoothly. "Seems more like you control everything but yourself."

"I do not control everything, Sherlock, I know I've told you this more than once," Mycroft's voice sounded tired. Sherlock glanced up at his brother, noticing his usual façade had slipped for a moment to show the tired, stressed person underneath.

"As you have so often told me, Mycroft, actions speak louder than words," Sherlock quipped. "Now do you have some other reason for coming over here, other than to bother me?"

"I was hoping to get you to do something other than sulk in the corner, as that's all you seem to have done all evening."

"So you've only come over here to annoy me, as usual. Why don't you go talk to someone else?"

"I was only hoping you'd try to be at least a little social, if only to make Mummy a little happier."

"Mummy would only be happier if I was more like you." Sherlock grumbled.

Mycroft's head turned abruptly to his brother, an almost glare crossing his features.

"_What_?"

"I know for a fact that you have excellent hearing Mycroft, I am not going to repeat myself."

"You're surely joking, right?" Mycroft attempted (and failed) to hide the shock in his voice.

"Please. That's all I ever hear. 'Why can't you be more like your brother?' I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm not _you_."

"Mummy was always proud of you. She always doted on you from what I saw."

"All Mummy ever spoke about to me was 'Why can't you be more like Mycroft?' 'Why can't you make friends like Mycroft does?' Mycroft this, Mycroft that, always the disappointment, because I was never _you_."

"And you know what she always said to me?" Mycroft was becoming quite visibly agitated. "All I ever heard was 'Sherlock's different, you must make allowances for him,' 'Mycroft, go find your brother,' 'Mycroft, watch out for Sherlock,' Need I go on?"

John chose just that moment to appear.

"What's going on?" he asked, his large grin fading when he saw the other men's faces.

"Well, I'm sorry I wanted to be different, I'm sorry I couldn't be you!" Sherlock's voice rose a bit, not quite carrying to the dance floor, but several people nearby looked up.

"Sherlock, maybe we should go somewhere else?" John suggested, taking his elbow and pulling him a little ways away from the corner. When Sherlock ignored him and continued to glare at his brother, he tried again. He really didn't want to raise a scene, but he could sense that he needed to get Sherlock away from Mycroft before one of them said something that went too far. Both brothers looked like they were about to strike the other. There was a long pause, and then John spoke again.

"Could you two at least play nice for a few minutes? Your mother's on her way over here, and I don't think she wants to have to break up a fight between you two at her Christmas party," he hissed, spying Mrs. Holmes sweeping her way towards the corner where the three men stood.

It was as if someone had casted a spell on the brothers. Both of them straightened a little more, and they looked at each other with pleasant (albeit forced) smiles.

"And how are you, my dear brother?" Mycroft asked.

"I'm fantastic, just enjoying the lovely party our mother has thrown. And how are you?" Sherlock asked through his forced smile at the precise moment Mrs. Holmes showed up.

"Sherlock! I haven't seen you all evening! Where have you been? Oh, you look even handsomer than when I last saw you! I see you and your flatmate have run into Mycroft! How are you all getting on?"

"Quite well, Mummy," Sherlock smiled, really smiled when he faced her. Mrs. Holmes beamed.

"I'm very glad to see you're not quarreling like you normally do when you're near each other," she smiled, looking pleased with herself. _If only she'd known what had been taking place just a few minutes ago…_ John thought.

"Yes, well my _dear_ brother here was just telling me about his most recent case," Mycroft replied. "It's quite fascinating, how he and John caught him."

Mrs. Holmes' smile only grew wider as she nodded.

"Sherlock, have you danced with anyone, yet? There are several young ladies that have been asking after you."

"No, I haven't been dancing, I'm afraid, Mummy," Sherlock replied honestly.

"Well, why don't you come with me? I'm sure we can find someone for you to impress with your dancing skills," Mrs. Holmes reassured him unnecessarily as she took his elbow, opposite the one John had taken.

"Oh no, that's quite unnecessary," Sherlock replied. "I really would love to finish this enthralling conversation with my dear brother and John." All the sarcasm was hidden from his voice as he said this.

"Very well, but I expect to see you out on the dance floor soon, Sherlock!" she beamed at them all once more as she swept back across the room to talk with more of her guests.

"Quite the show, Sherlock," Mycroft commented as soon as she was out of earshot. Sherlock glared at his brother, but kept his mask of calmness.

"Please, I do better than that when I'm on a case," he said absently, scanning the dance floor for a girl who was a good dancer, so he might impress his mother.

"Mm, yes I know," Mycroft replied.

"You've been spying on me again."

"Not spying, keeping an eye on my younger brother," Mycroft countered. John, sensing another argument, tried to pull Sherlock's elbow, but Sherlock's feet remained planted where he stood.

"I don't _need_ you to keep an eye on me, Mycroft, I'm not three years old, you know."

"That doesn't mean you've dropped the habit of _acting_ like a three-year-old," Mycroft quipped. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"And _you_ haven't dropped the habit of sticking your big nose in where it doesn't belong," Sherlock retorted as he swept off to find a dance partner, leaving John with Mycroft. Dancing bored him, but he would do it to please Mummy on her favorite holiday of the year.

"You two are always bad aren't you?" he remarked. Mycroft's eyes followed his brother.

"The dinner is worse," Mycroft replied dryly. "Just wait. You're invited this year, if Sherlock hasn't already told you."

John groaned inwardly. Sherlock _had_ already told him, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to it.

**A/N: **I may write a sequel to this, I'm not sure yet, about the Christmas Dinner. This was written after a plot bunny appeared, and it is dedicated to my friend Ann, in England. XD


End file.
